


The Red Trailer of Feels

by catherineflowers



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire & Related Fandoms, A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Buried Feelings, Construction Workers, F/M, PWP, Past Trauma - Disaster, Shameless Smut
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-07-08
Updated: 2018-07-08
Packaged: 2019-06-07 07:39:59
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,397
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15214355
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/catherineflowers/pseuds/catherineflowers
Summary: “It’s your project,” he told her. Eyes on her eyes. “It will always be yours.”





	The Red Trailer of Feels

**Author's Note:**

  * For [CaptainTarthister](https://archiveofourown.org/users/CaptainTarthister/gifts).



> Not a lot of depth to this - it's shameless smut. My dear CaptainTarthister complained there was a bit of a smut drought in JB lately, and I can't let a lady down.
> 
> Basically it's a Modern AU version of the Red Tent of Feels, only it ends the way I would have ended it had I written it! Enjoy!

Brienne parked her car at the brow of the hill – it was a good a spot as any. There was a patch of gravel overlooking the site where several diggers and cranes had been dumped between jobs.

Pod fumbled with the paperwork – he had armfuls of folders and was trying to collect them from the back seat without dropping them.

Brienne didn’t help him. She had her own precious paperwork tucked into her belt. She looked out over the site, surveying the diggers and cranes and the scaffolding. The Riverrun development was not going well, she knew. She’d heard whispers they were seriously behind, rumours they had been hampered by joining forces with Frey Constructions. That was why the boss himself had taken over.

All looked busy now, all looked orderly and efficient. She couldn’t see anyone who wasn’t doing something.

“Houses!” Pod exclaimed as he came up behind her, the files tucked in his arms up to his chin.

Brienne rolled her eyes. “You’re a credit to your profession, Pod.”

Then she saw him. Turning a corner, driving a brand new, state-of the-art gleaming white forklift, his back straight and his hair cut short. Clean shaven too. Jaime Lannister. Everyone moved out of his way. There was no question that he was in charge.

Her belly turned over as soon as she saw him – that part of her that she had left in the rubble still yearned to reach out to him, even at this distance. It was a strange feeling – an echo of a strange day. She wondered if it would ever change.

Pod grabbed her arm. “Brienne!” he said. “Brienne.”

She shook him off, but belatedly noticed there was someone else there – a weasel-faced man with a cigarette between his yellow teeth. He looked her up and down the way most men did – probably trying to see if she really was a woman.

“Who are you?” he asked.

“Brienne O’Tarth.” She held up her company ID and then touched the rolled-up paper she’d shoved in her belt. “I need to see Mr Lannister. Tell him I have his plans.”

He yanked his radio off his belt and mumbled into it. There was a burst of static and an unintelligible reply.

“Boss is clocking off now,” he told her. “You’ll have to come to his trailer.”

She nodded and followed him down the hill towards the site. It was a hot day, warm and dusty, and she rolled up the sleeves of her plaid shirt and seated her hard hat on her head. Behind her, Pod stumbled, dropping half a dozen of his files into the dust. She didn’t help him.

The site itself was noisy and busy. Men shouted to each other, machinery rumbled, rubble and dust everywhere. But it looked good – like it was working well. Jaime obviously ran a tight ship.

The workers’ trailers lay to the west of the site, and she knew which one was Jaime Lannister’s well before the weasel-faced man pointed it out. It was twice as big as the others and was a rich, polished shade of crimson. Only he would have a trailer that looked like a sports car. Brienne resisted the impulse to roll her eyes.

Weasel-face led her and Pod to a set of patio furniture that had been set up outside Jaime’s trailer and told them to wait there. Pod gratefully dumped his folders and took a seat. He was sweating.

Brienne was too, but not from the heat.

It had been just over a year since she had seen Jaime Lannister last. A year since he had handed over his legacy, his father’s pride and joy, to her.

The Oathkeeper Hotel, the plans for which sat in her belt right now. It had been meant for him – the crown jewel of the Lannister building legacy. A project to die for, a project a career was made from. His father had given it to Jaime as a torch passing.

She had taken it from him reluctantly, not sure he was serious, not sure she was up to the challenge. It was an enormous undertaking – the land negotiations alone had taken the best part of the year since. But now, everything was finally in place. Plans were completed, and Pod’s paperwork had been signed.

Now, she just needed to be sure Jaime was sure.

A year ago, Jaime had still been traumatised. He’d been through a lot – life-changing things she didn’t think he had fully dealt with. She wanted to see if he had regrets, to give him an opportunity to change his mind.

A year before that, she had been a lowly Foreman, working for the Lannisters on a small island site – they were building an office block. She had butted heads with Jaime almost every day, mostly because he joined in with the constant banter of the other workers, teasing her mercilessly about her height and manliness, ribbing her and jibing her until he provoked her to anger.

He stopped short of sexual insults, and he wouldn’t let the men say anything ribald to her either – probably frightened of a lawsuit – but he was truly merciless with his mockery and she’d despised him.

That last day, she’d been on an inspection tour with him, and he’d tried to take her to task, pointing out all the errors in her work. She’d met him blow for blow, pointing out how lacking his knowledge of building regs was, how he didn’t understand what he was looking at. She’d been surprised, but clearly, being the boss’s son didn’t mean he was any damn good at his job – all he seemed to be good at was the banter.

They had been inspecting the underground parking structure when it had happened. A low rumble, followed by a sudden jerk. His eyes had met hers uncertainly.

“Earthquake,” she had whispered. She’d grown up around here and earthquakes were not an uncommon occurrence, but this had felt different immediately. The ground had lurched wildly beneath them, sending them tumbling into each other’s arms. As they’d hit the deck, she’d seen the cracks appear. Spidering the new-laid concrete floor, splitting it in a million different directions. The floor had _rippled_ – like someone dropping a stone in a pond, and then the lights had gone out.

“We have to get out of here!” Jaime had called in the darkness, but she’d already known it was far too late. Above them – screams – panic, fear, pain. Followed by an almighty roar of falling concrete and tumbling bricks that she’d known, just _known_ was the new-built office block falling on top of them. They had clung to each other, fistfuls of clothing – terrified and horrified.

The impact had been intense. She and Jaime had been thrown around the parking lot, hitting pillars and stones, ceiling and floor – all in pitch blackness. Somehow, through all of it, they had clung to each other, shielding each other’s heads, gripping tight to each other.

To this day, Brienne didn’t remember what had knocked her out, but she remembered coming round with water dripping on her face.

She had been pressed to Jaime’s chest – his shirt had ripped open and her cheek was against his chest hair, his heartbeat in her ear. She had known he was alive.

He hadn’t been conscious though. He was moaning vaguely, calling his sister’s name.

Brienne had tried to get up, but there was something against her back. Concrete – round – she had groped it with her hands, which were pinned by her sides with very little movement. It was one of the parking lot pillars. It had saved their lives, deflected the other rubble from them, but it had them pinned beneath it.

Jaime had woken up then. He had called her Cersei almost immediately.

“No, it – it’s me. Brienne,” she had husked, her throat thick with concrete dust.

“Wench?” he’d said. It had been his cruel nickname – he’d ordered her to fetch and carry for him one day and had boasted that she was his brick wench.

“ _Brienne_. We’re trapped. I think the building fell down. I can’t move. Are you all right?”

“My – my hand hurts. It’s caught – I can’t get it out.”

“Don’t worry – they’ll find us.”

He had winced then, and beneath her ear, she had heard his heartrate quicken. “It hurts,” he had panted. “It _really_ hurts.”

Brienne had seen this before – construction injuries where something catastrophic had happened. It took time for the nerves to realise, time for them to wake up, particularly after unconsciousness.

“You think it’s broken?”

“Crushed,” he had grunted. “It _hurts_. Fuck.”

She had heard the tears in his voice, the shuddering in his breath.

“Don’t worry,” she had said again. “We’re alive. They’ll find us.”

“There’s a whole fucking building on top of us!” he had moaned.

“Try not to panic. We have air … and we have water. It’s dripping on my face, the mains must have burst in the building above. We can survive this.”

His breathing had slowed a little. “Can you reach the water?” he had asked. “Can you get it?”

She had twisted her arms to try to pull them out, and immediately, he had let out an agonised cry. As she had moved, she had pulled on his chest, stretching his shoulder, pulling his right arm and subsequently his trapped hand.

“I’m sorry!” she had blurted. “Oh gods – I’m so sorry!”

He hadn’t been able to speak, only cry with the pain.

“I won’t do it again.”

“No,” he had panted. “You have to. Need the water to survive.”

“I think my arms are stuck anyway.”

“Shit.”

It had been so frustrating, the water had been dripping right on her cheek.

“Can you get it in your mouth?”

She’d twisted her head over her shoulder, just enough that the drips could pool on her cheek and then slowly, slowly, run into her mouth. The water had been cold and clean, definitely drinking water. She had lapped at it eagerly, glad to get the taste of the dust out of her mouth.

Yes!” she had breathed.

She had been aware of him shifting under her then, his beard on her forehead, then her nose. In the total blackout, it was a strange sensation, and she had instinctively jerked away.

“What are you doing?”

“You’ll have to pass it to me … with your mouth.”

“Seriously?!”

“Can you think of a better way, wench?”

She hadn’t been able to, but her face had flamed with embarrassment anyway. “Give me a minute to collect some.”

She had twisted again, mouth open, curling her tongue so she could use it as a reservoir.

Then she had tilted her face to where she thought his was, bumping noses, then chins. Awkward. His mouth had seized hers as if in a passionate kiss, his tongue lapping at hers to gather the water she had collected. He sighed and swallowed.

As the hours had passed, they had repeated the process innumerable times – sharing breath, sharing warmth, sharing the life-giving water. It had been far more intimate than kissing. The world had shrunk – there was only Jaime in the dark, the scent of his skin, the sound of his breathing. His whimpers of pain.

He had started to get delirious after a while, the skin on his chest burning hot. He’d moaned and babbled incoherently about his sister and his girlfriend intermittently, sometimes getting the two confused. In his delirium he’d grown hard in his pants, and she was painfully aware that his member was pressed right between her breasts. She had soothed him as best she could, passing him mouthful after mouthful of the water in the hope that it would calm him and cool him.

Eventually, he’d lost consciousness, and control of his bladder. His piss had soaked through his pants and into her shirt and bra, and she hadn’t been revolted at all. She’d just been desperately, desperately worried about him.

She’d slept periodically herself, waking to choked, panicky darkness, fitfully listening to his heartbeat to make sure he was still alive. He’d stopped babbling now and was only moaning, pained and fevered and lost.

It had been a full twenty-four hours before they had been rescued. Luckily the entire weight of the building had fallen in the opposite direction, and they had been dug out from the ruin with relative ease.

But twenty-eight Lannister builders had died that day, almost half of their construction team. Several more, like Jaime, had suffered life-changing injuries. They had been unable to repair his crushed hand, and had been forced to amputate at the wrist.

Nothing had been the same again.

Over the months that followed, Jaime and Brienne had clung to each other during their rehabilitation – phone calls late at night, deep, soul-searching conversations, needing to be near each other to feel safe, to keep the nightmares at bay.

Slowly, slowly, as they both got stronger, these had petered out. Then, after a strange company gathering where Jaime’s sister had been an utter bitch to her, Brienne had been summoned to Jaime’s office. There, much to her astonishment, she had been given a huge promotion, a hefty pay rise and the Oathkeeper Hotel. Oh, and her very own assistant, Podrick Payne.

She hadn’t spoken to Jaime since that day – the Oathkeeper site and all the meetings were on the other side of the country and she … well, things had changed. They were stronger, getting hold of their lives again. It seemed healthy to stay separate from him. Healthy to stay away.

But here she was. Sweating outside his trailer on a summer afternoon. Waiting for him.

He emerged a few moments later, hair wet, fresh from the shower. Brienne felt that powerful feeling turn her stomach over again – it was strange, but she had come to accept it. Part of her would always be stuck in that parking lot, pinned under that concrete post with her head pressed to his chest listening for his heartbeat.

He beckoned to her with his left hand and she followed, up the stairs and into the trailer. Pod spoke behind her, but she didn’t hear him and didn’t respond. She closed the door behind herself.

Inside, Jaime’s trailer was just as flashy as it was outside, big and wide and full of mod cons. He looked good, dressed in a black t-shirt and jeans that clung to his body in all the right places. He’d got some weight back on, she noticed, and he’d clearly been working out. He looked lean and muscled and tanned and good. It was wonderful to see him looking so healthy.

He’d taken his prosthetic hand off, she noticed – it sat on the table between them in the dining area. He stood opposite her, the table between them.

“Mr Lannister,” she started.

He blinked in surprise at her formality. “Miss O’Tarth,” he returned, with something akin to a smirk. “I’m surprised to see you.”

She pulled the plans out of her belt, unrolled them. “The Oathkeeper,” she said. “The planning stage is officially over.”

He took the plans from her hand, and spread them out on the table between them. Looked them over, nodding at what he saw.

“You’ve done well,” he said. “Quickly, too. I think my father would approve.”

“Your father?”

“ _I_ approve. I’m proud of you. That was never going to be an easy negotiation.”

Brienne felt herself blush. She looked at the floor, the rich crimson carpet.

“Of course, the damn thing still has to be built, so there is that … complication. What are you doing here?”

“I came for Blackfish,” she lied, thinking of one of Jaime’s senior advisors off the top of her head.  “I was hoping you’d let me have him as project manager.”

Jaime made a face. “Have you ever worked with Blackfish?”

“No,” she admitted.

“He’s more of a pain in the arse to work with than you are. He’s off sick in protest at the moment because he’s not keen on working with Frey Construction.”

“I’ll take him off your hands then.”

“Hand,” he corrected. “But please, be my guest.”

She nodded. Turned to leave, and then turned back. How was this so hard to say?

“Jaime?”

“Yes, Brienne?”

“I brought the plans today – and all the paperwork – because I thought you might want to oversee the construction phase yourself.”

He swallowed, tilted his head.

“You gave it to me because you couldn’t do it at that time. Now, things are different. I understand that.”

He leaned over the table and took the Oathkeeper plans in his hand. Tried to roll them, but failed miserably with only one hand. He rounded the table to pass them to her, half folded, half screwed up.

“It’s _your_ project,” he told her. Eyes on her eyes. “It will always be yours.”

She stepped forward to take the plans from him, stepping into his personal space. The scent of him hit her like a wave, that scent she had breathed in all those hours trapped in the rubble, the scent of Jaime. The goodbye she had ready died in her mouth.

He too had his mouth open, and his eyes suddenly locked onto hers. As she went to take the plans her fingers brushed his. He looked scared. Overwhelmed. He swallowed, hard.

“It is … good to see you again,” he whispered.

“Yes,” she agreed. “You too.”

He hadn’t let go of the plans. He held onto them, his fingers on hers.

“How are you?” he said. “How have you been doing?”

She sighed. “Okay. I … I still have dreams sometimes. How about you?”

“Yeah. The same. The dreams. Claustrophobia too. That’s why I got myself this big trailer.”

“It’s lovely.”

“I missed you,” he husked, his voice barely above a whisper. “I did. No one else gets it, you know?”

She nodded.

“Come here, wench,” he said, trying to make it sound light-hearted, but his voice quavered. He pulled her close, both arms going tight around her back. He was hugging her! They had never hugged.

She wrapped her arms about him too, awkwardly at first, conscious that she was taller and bigger than him, but he folded so nicely into her embrace that it didn’t matter. His breath was warm on her neck, and the scent of his hair in her nose was sharp and sweet.

She expected him to let go after a moment, but he didn’t. He tightened the embrace further, letting out a sigh into her neck. His hand rubbed her back.

He lifted his face to hers, his eyes half-lidded and intense. His lips were parted and he moistened them with the tip of his tongue.

“You know … I haven’t been able to stop thinking about you,” he whispered. “Brienne …”

He leaned up and pressed his lips against hers. Brienne was stunned – she took a moment to react. The shock of his lips, the reminder of how it had felt to pass him water all those hours, was too much. She pulled away.

“You – you’re _kissing_ me?” she gaped.

He let go of her. The Oathkeeper plans fell from her hand and fell to the floor.

“I’m sorry,” he said, immediately going back behind the table. His face was dark and flushed with embarrassment.

“You have a girlfriend!”

“A girlfriend? Oh. Yes, yes, I … we … she … she cheated. I found out she cheated on me while I was away. I took this project to get some space.”

“You broke up with her?”

“I think so yes.”

“You _think_ so? But you kissed me.”

“That’s different.”

“It’s _different_? Why? Because I’m ugly and I should be grateful to get banged and benched while you find out what’s going on with your girlfriend?”

“No! Is that what you think? You think I’m pigging you?”

“I’m your brick wench, remember?”

“That was a million years ago. I was a different man. You can’t think -”

He came out from behind the table, a pained look on his face. “We shouldn’t argue about all of that. Not now. I told you – I can’t stop thinking about you. I haven’t been able to since you left.”

“What we went through – “

“No. Not because of that – not all the trauma and the suffering. Because I fell in love with you.”

“You …”

“I fell in love with you. All right? And I don’t know what it means, or whether it’s a good idea or if I’m capable of being in a healthy relationship right now. But you turned up today and I know – I _know_ that I can’t just let you walk out of here without telling you.”

She was stunned. Stunned. She stood there, red and gaping, without a word, without a thought in her head.

“Kick me in the nuts and tell me to fuck off if you like. But there it is.”

She shook her head. Still mute. Trying to remember how to speak. “No,” she stuttered eventually. “No, I – I understand.”

“You – you do?”

She nodded. “It hurts when I think about you,” she told him.

His face softened. “It hurts?”

Her hand drifted between her breasts. “Here,” she told him. Her hand trailed down to her belly. “And here.”

He reached for her, placed his hand on top of hers. “Here?”

“Yes.”

His eyes met hers – he deftly twisted the buttons on her shirt with his fingers, opening it to expose her skin. “Would you … maybe … like me to try and kiss that better for you?”

He was on his knees in front of her. Brienne’s belly quaked as he placed his lips upon it, just above the belly button. Again, her nostrils were filled with the scent of him. He inhaled her, too, and moaned low in his throat, like a starving man about to eat for the first time in a month.

His hand parted the fabric of her shirt and his lips kissed a path up around her hip, up to her ribs, kissed each of the slight swells of her breasts through her bra. He pushed her shirt off her shoulders and it fell to the floor, landing with a rustle on top of the Oathkeeper plans.

He stood up to strip his own t-shirt off. Beneath, his naked chest – where she had lain for all those hours, the soft golden hair where she had pressed her cheek. He was beautiful – the sight of him made that ache in her chest and belly grow and swell, blossoming into a hard pulse of something she could only describe as _want_.

He took her in his arms again, his skin against her skin, his heart pounding against hers, his chest rising and falling with his quickening breaths. His cock was hard – she could feel him against her thigh through both their jeans, and there was no doubt in her mind where this was going.

Fuck dating, fuck taking it slow, fuck figuring this out. They were going to bed. They were going to get naked and she was going to take his cock inside her and they were going to make each other come. There was no two ways about it.

They were kissing now, hard and wet and wonderful, tongues and teeth and breath together. Her hands were all over him, and his all over her. She grabbed his butt hard and held him against her. He lifted her up onto the edge of the table, grinding against her. It felt obscene – it felt _wonderful._ He fumbled behind her with his hand, on her bra, and then let out an exasperated sigh.

“These things are impossible with _two_ hands,” he complained.

She laughed and undid her bra herself, very conscious he was going to see her, see just how small her tits were. A dozen of his jibes came back to her. He didn’t seem to remember, though. His mouth was on her nipple before her bra had hit the floor.

She lay back on the table, wrapping her legs around him, watching him tongue her nipples one at a time, suckling and lapping and humming.

The table creaked and swayed alarmingly beneath them, unable to bear their weight. They chuckled together and shared a sweet kiss.

“Bed?” he asked. A hand held out to her. His tone was cocky, but his eyes were almost vulnerable, almost frightened she would reject him.

She nodded, taking his outstretched hand with a soft smile, but he didn’t lead her there straight away. Instead, he kicked off his sneakers, pulled off his trousers. The front of his boxers was tented absurdly, and he dropped them too, revealing himself utterly to her.

A naked Jaime Lannister was a beautiful thing to behold. Golden and glorious, lean and muscular, and his cock …. It was slender and long, and achingly hard, its swollen head red and leaking. She was going to take that cock inside her, she realised with a shiver of desire. Jaime Lannister’s cock.

She tugged off her own jeans, stepped out of them. Wiggled her panties down her hips before he noticed they were just plain white cotton ones.

“Mmmm …” he breathed as he looked at her body. His eyes wandered over her like a caress, mouth slightly open as if he just wanted to eat her alive.

His bedroom area was undersized – the bed was slightly smaller than a double and not made for someone of Brienne’s stature. It was also untidy – clothes and bedclothes tangled together in a messy heap on the bed. Jaime didn’t care. He swept the whole lot onto the floor and pulled Brienne on top of him on the undersheet.

They kissed lazily, breath hot and tongues sliding wetly against each other. He tasted the same as he had when she had passed those precious mouthfuls of water to him, his tongue just as eager, just as insistent. But there was no urgency now, no danger, no terrible crushing panic. Just exploration, just pleasure, just love.

They broke the kiss and he gazed up at her with soft eyes, tracing her hairline with soft fingers – down over her cheekbone, down over her lips.

“I can’t believe this is really happening,” he whispered.

“Nor can I,” she whispered back, and kissed him again.

As they kissed, Jaime’s hand roamed down from her face, meandering over her shoulder and down her side until it was squirming between their bodies, seeking between her legs. He explored her for a few moments, rather tentatively she thought.

He pulled his hand away, and found one of her own hands instead. Rolled her over and put her fingers between her legs.

“Show me,” he whispered, his voice thick with excitement. “Show me what you like.”

Brienne froze. She could feel herself blush – she had never touched herself in front of anyone before, never even admitted that she did it.

“Please,” he urged. He was pressed against her side, his hand wrapped firmly about his cock now. “I’ve only been with one woman before.”

This shocked Brienne to her core. “One?”

“My – my girlfriend. We were together since school.”

If anyone else had told her, she would never have believed it. He’d always seemed so cocksure.

She rolled her fingers, pressing them against herself.

“Mmm,” sighed Jaime appreciatively. “Yes.”

He wriggled down between her legs to watch, his eyes heavy and intense. She heard herself moan – no one had ever studied her cunt so closely.

“What do you think about?” he breathed against her thigh. Throat thick with arousal. “What makes you come?”

Her hand sped up involuntarily. “You,” she managed to pant. “I think about you.”

“I think about you too.” He planted a kiss on her leg, and the sensation of his lips on her, his breath, and his gaze on the most intimate parts of her body pushed her over the edge immediately. She rode the wave of pleasure with her eyes screwed tightly shut and when she had finished and opened them, he was there, leaning in to kiss her and kiss her and kiss her.

“We’d better do this before I embarrass myself,” he grinned.

He leaned over the side of the bed and rooted around in a drawer before pressing a small package into her hand with a face of chagrin.

“I can’t put on a condom one-handed either,” he confessed. “Help me?”

Her fingers were slippery with her own juices, but she managed to open the packet. They knelt on the bed together to roll it onto his cock, giggling at the absurdity of what they were doing.

Then he seized her around the waist with the stump of his right arm, caught her lips with his and kissed her until she was light headed. They tumbled back onto the bed and he settled between her legs.

They locked eyes, sharing excited breaths as slowly, slowly, inch by inch, he pushed inside her. He had tears in his eyes.

It was beautiful, almost as wonderful as the moment they had been pulled from the wreckage of the parking lot. A surge of life, of possibility. Gratitude and happiness.

This felt like full circle from that moment, from lying pressed against each other in the dark, wondering if they would die. Brienne knew that even if they never slept together again, this would heal them both.

But already she knew this wouldn’t be the last time they slept together. The look in Jaime’s eyes, the pure electricity she felt when his skin touched hers – it was something else. She’d never felt so certain about a man, so free with him. They had almost died together – life together would be easy by comparison.

She kissed him fiercely, and he returned it with equal fervour, moaning softly in time with the thrusting of his hips.

He was impossibly hard inside her, and his hand gripped her waist now, fingers digging into her skin as his breath hissed between his teeth. And that feeling was building again for her too, the sparks and jolts from touching him, the movement inside her, the look on his face …

He thrust himself deep inside her with a guttural cry and suddenly she was coming too, gripping him tightly and moaning his name.

They collapsed together with a soft, sloppy kiss, panting and laughing and pressing their sweaty foreheads together. Rubbing noses. Kissing again.

He pulled out of her gently and waddled off to the trailer’s bathroom to dispose of the condom. Brienne got up to search for her clothes. Jaime came through into the living space with a huge grin on his face, looking her naked body up and down.

“My beautiful wench,” he smirked. “Is it just me or is it hot in here?”

He turned around and pushed the trailer’s kitchen window open. Before she’d had the chance to protest, to warn Jaime, there he was.

Podrick Payne, sitting at the table right outside, his stack of files next to him. He looked up at the movement, saw Brienne. Naked. And Jaime. Naked. His eyes went wide.

There was another man with him. Bronn Blackwater, Jaime’s assistant. He turned to look at what Pod was looking at. Broke into an uproarious laugh. He clapped Pod on the back.

“Told you so!” he said.

Brienne grabbed her clothes. Jaime gave Bronn the finger and shut the window.

“You didn’t tell me you’d brought Pod,” he laughed.

“He’s going to have nightmares for _weeks_ ,” she moaned. “Seeing your boss in the nude ….”

“Oh, I don’t know. I reckon he’s already stashed it in the wank bank.”

“Jaime!”

“I know I have.”

He grabs her arm and pulls her towards him, leaning up to kiss her and kiss her and kiss her. She drops her clothes and embraces him, skin against skin, chest hair rubbing on her nipples and making them hard.

“How long are you in town?” he whispers against her mouth.

“Just today. I’m getting the boat back tonight. In about six hours actually.”

“Six hours? Do you have time for dinner?”

“I am hungry,” she smiles.

“Good. That’s what we’ll do then. Get dressed, dinner … back here if you like … then I’ll come and wave you off at the docks.”

How can she resist? She can’t stop smiling, and neither can he. They shower together, and dress again and leave his trailer holding hands.


End file.
